Fish in a Bowl
by Purupuss
Summary: Gordon's in a spot of bother...


_Dedicated to Boomercat, to show how glad I am that she hasn't renounced the world of Thunderbirds fan fiction. There aren't enough writers of her calibre that we can afford to lose her. I guess that, like us all, she's been infected by a particular strain of incurable Avian 'flu. She's been bitten by the Thunderbirds bug._

_As usual thanks to Quiller and D.C. for their proof-reading skills and suggestions._

_Thunderbirds belongs to Granada (I think) and I therefore have no claim to any characters or machines mentioned in this story._

_Please ask my permission before posting this anywhere else, including C2s.  
_

_F-A-B_

:-)

_Purupuss_

* * *

**Fish in a Bowl**

_Gordon's in a spot of bother…_

---F-A-B---

Okay. It's official…

I hate water.

I can imagine my family's reaction if I were to stand up in the middle of the lounge at home and suddenly announce that.

Virgil, performing some piece of music or other, would stop playing and his hands would fall to the keyboard with a crash that would set Grandma's figurines rattling.

Scott would stare at me, try to work out who I was tricking this time, prepare himself to calm down whichever brother was about to want to kill me, and at the same time warn me with his eyes that I'd better not be planning to try anything on him.

Dad would be a similar, if older, picture. He would frown, unsure whether before long he'd be laughing with me, growling at me (trying to hide the fact that he really thought whatever I'd done was funny), or about to let rip at me with more fury than Thunderbird Three taking off.

John's jaw would drop in disbelief. His mouth would be so wide open that one of his shooting stars could fly in there, zoom about, fly out again, and he wouldn't notice.

Grandma would start fussing around me, checking that I was all right and didn't have a temperature. Then she'd confirm that I still had my appetite by offering me a piece of one of her delicious pies.

Brains would peer at me over the top of his spectacles as if he was trying to work out the best way to dissect me.

Tin-Tin would look at me, then at Alan to see if he was in on the joke, and then at her father before she'd look at me again. In the meantime Kyrano would watch me with his usual inscrutable expression. Who knows what goes on in that man's mind?

Alan wouldn't believe me. He would burst out laughing and one by one the rest of the family would join in, thinking that I'm teasing them; that this is another of my jokes.

In my mind's eye I can see them all as clear as day, which is just as well since I can't see anything else. But then, being in an air pocket in the upturned hull of a boat on the sea floor isn't somewhere that you'd expect to be flooded with light.

I'm trapped. Like a fish in a bowl.

Somewhere, fathoms above me, two Thunderbirds are circling... Helpless.

I can imagine what's going on up there too. Big brother will be panicking Scott Tracy style. Which means that he'll be stating the obvious as his mind races trying to find a practical solution. The only visible sign of his anxiousness will be the beads of sweat on his face. _"Gordon's trapped down there,"_ he'll be saying to Thunderbird Two, Thunderbird Five and base. _"If we don't get him out soon he'll drown!"_ Like we don't all realise that, Scott…

Especially me.

Virgil will be frowning, and when he frowns it's a wonder his eyebrows don't tickle his nose. The only thing that's got a deeper frown than my brother is a hedgehog.

Of course, they don't know that I'm still alive.

When we arrived at the scene the fishing boat was in the process of sinking. Immediately we'd dropped pod four and I, in Thunderbird Four, had headed down to the bottom of the ocean. When I'd reached it the stricken boat was lying on the sea floor and I'd left my sub to search it for any survivors.

Then Scott had radioed through that the fishermen that we thought were trapped on this vessel had been picked up by a cargo ship miles away from their last known location. He'd no sooner got the words out when the fishing boat had shifted, tipping up and sending debris raining down on me. Something had crushed the air cylinder on my back and the force of the blow had caused me to lose my torch, spare oxygen cylinder, and my radio. It hadn't taken someone with Brains' genius to work out that I was in serious trouble. That swim upwards was the longest and most excruciating one that I've ever done on a single breath of air.

I was lucky that I wasn't badly hurt and luckier still that I found that air pocket.

But that's where my luck has run out.

Is this small supply of oxygen that I'm breathing air from my tanks pouring out into the hull? Or was it trapped in the boat as she sank? Here I am, treading water in an ever decreasing air pocket, not knowing how long I've got to live.

Come on, Gordon! Keep positive. Don't give up. Even now Scott's come up with a solution. They'll activate Thunderbird Four's automatic retrieval programme and bring her back to the surface. Then Virgil will lower the elevator car and Alan will be transferred from Thunderbird Two to my little sub. Once he's aboard Alan will come down to save…

Alan!

He's at home on Tracy Island! There's only the three of us here. Scott flying about in Thunderbird One, Virgil flying about in Thunderbird Two and me trapped under water with no one to rescue me. Dad decreed that we wouldn't take more than three operatives on this mission. We didn't think we'd need anyone else. So we left Alan at home.

There's only me, Scott and Virgil here! We're miles from the nearest bit of land and they've no way to get to me! I knew we should have brought Alan. I knew it! I'm done for…!

_gasp _

Whoa! Calm down, Gordon!

_cough - cough_

Panicking won't solve anything and will use up your precious supply of oxygen. Take deep breaths…

_gasp_

But not too many and not too deep…

There… That's better.

So Alan's still at home. I had my doubts about leaving him at the time, but who argues with Dad? And, I've got to admit, I enjoyed seeing little brother's pouting face as I left the lounge.

I'd enjoy seeing his face even more if I could see it right here, right now. I'd be even happier if he was here instead of me…

No. That's not fair. I'm the strongest swimmer in the team. I can tread water longer than anyone else. I've got a better chance of survival…

Until the air runs out.

How much air have I got?

I don't know.

_There once was a frogman named Gordon…_

Why did that suddenly pop into my head?

_Who found living on land brought on boredom…_

Where did it come from?

_His greatest wish_

I remember! John wrote it on my farewell card before I left to spend the year in the bathyscaphe.

_Was to live like a fish_

No! That's wrong! I don't want to live like a fish! I want to get back to dry land. I want to breathe good clean air! I like having something solid beneath my feet. I like it a lot more than having something solid pressing down on my head.

_There once was a frogman named Gordon…_

Yeah, yeah. We know…

_Who found living on land brought on boredom…_

Stop it!

_His greatest wish  
Was to live like a fish_

Who in their right mind would want to live like a fish? I've studied fish and there's not much excitement in their lives. Just swimming, eating, and being eaten.

_There once was a frogman named Gordon…_

And what was the last line anyway? Something that rhymed with Gordon…

_There once was a frogman named Gordon…_

Shut up! Why won't that silly limerick stop looping around and around in my head? Think of something else.

_To get out of this boat, I wish I could float._

Hey! I'm a poet!

_There once was a frogman named Gordon…_

No! Not Gordon. Forget Gordon…

_There once was a frogman named Tracy…  
Who soon would be pushing up daisies…_

No! Stop it. I don't want to die. I'm not going to die!

_There once was a frogman named Gordon…_

I've got it! I'll change my name. That's the idea. I renounce the name of Gordon Tracy. I'll call myself something else. Something simple… Fred… Yes! That's it! My name is Fred!

_There once was a frogman named Fred…  
Who knew before long he'd be dead…_

No!

Okay, so Fred isn't going to work. Try something else. What's another name I could call myself?

Max.

Max? Why Max? I'm not a Max.

_There once was a frogman called Max  
Who knew he had all of the facts  
Away from the sky  
He was going to die  
In a cabin where he couldn't relax._

Can't you think of something else, Gordon? Stop thinking about death. Think about something else.

_Out of oxygen I'll gasp_

_Till I play a harp…_

Stop it! Not that I could play a harp at the moment anyway. My arms are getting tired. Okay. Try to relax one while the other continues to tread water. Is that helping?

No. Not really.

_There once was a frogman named Gordon…_

John! I wish you'd never written that stupid limerick… Or at least written a last line that I could remember. What rhymes with Gordon…? Broaden? Cordon? Chaplain? Coffin? It's no good. I'm a terrible poet.

What's keeping those guys?

There's nothing they can do: that's what's keeping them. There's no land for miles big enough to hold a Thunderbird. No islands big enough for Thunderbird One to land on so Scott could be picked up by Virgil.

_There once was a frogman named Gordon…_

Yeah, whatever.

I'm sick of this. For the first time in my life I want to get out of the water. I thought water was supposed to be my friend and here it is trying to take my life for a second time.

I've never been scared of the water. Even when I was in a rapidly decelerating hydrofoil, I wasn't scared of water. I was scared of the bits of metal flying towards me, and the slithers of plexiglass, and the fact that my internal organs were still moving forward at nearly 400 knots, while the rest of me was decelerating suddenly, but I wasn't afraid of the water.

I am now.

I'm sorry, Dad. What must you be thinking? 'Gordon again? Gordon's always in trouble. If he's not almost killing himself in hydrofoil accidents then he's playing jokes when he'd be better off keeping his nose clean.'

I never wanted to cause you trouble, Dad. I only want to have fun. The only things I can take seriously are International Rescue and swimming.

And I'm pretty serious about swimming at the moment. My legs are starting to cramp up.

I know my brothers tease me about my love of water. I've heard all the jokes. They've said I've got gills rather than lungs and that the reason why my hair is red is because I'm part goldfish. You've even called me 'fish face' haven't you, Alan? And I'll bet you didn't like the fisholene oil that I put on the engine of your car in retaliation, did you? Did you ever find where that putrid smell was coming from? I'll bet that stunk out the whole car, though you never admitted it to me.

And whose idea was it to forge my birth certificate stating that my father's name was really 'Neptune' while my mother's was 'Flipper'? I could recognise your artistic style, Virgil, but I'll bet it wasn't your idea. However, I will admit that it was clever. One point to the prankster, whoever it was.

Well, I'm fed up to the gills with… No, let me rephrase that. I'm fed up to the back teeth with water.

How much air do I have left? How far away is the ceiling, floor, bulkhead, or whatever it is above me?

Oh, heck.

Well, don't panic, Gordon. Scott will be up there pulling rabbits out of hats…

I'd rather he pulled me out of this boat.

But what can he do? Fly home and pick up Alan? Is there enough time for that?

I don't know: but I know there's less time now than there was before.

Relax that leg for a bit. Brace against the 'ceiling' and try to flex the cramp out of it.

I wonder if I could float on my back?

That's better…

I wonder if any fish are in my prison with me. Sharks maybe…

_There once was a frogman named Gordon…_

Shut up!

I'm starting to get cold. My wetsuit's protecting me from the water, but my face is exposed. Maybe I'll get hypothermia before I drown, or get carbon dioxide poisoning, or get eaten by a shark, or something…

_There once was a frogman named Gordon…_

At this precise moment instead of lying in the water I would prefer to by lying on a deckchair somewhere in the middle of the Sahara desert. Somewhere, warm, dry, and with plenty of oxygen above me.

_Who found living on land brought on boredom…_

Nothing boring about living on land. Lots of things I can do on land… Breathe for a start.

I wish I had the torch. I want to illuminate my surroundings. Maybe then I could work out some way to escape. I wish I could see some light… But then it would depend on the type of light I could see. They say that people who have had near death experiences have seen a bright light and I'm not ready to see that yet.

Are you ready, Alan? Are you ready to clamber into Thunderbird One as soon as she touches down? Don't worry about the steps, just jump through the hatch and strap yourself in. It's going to be quite a flight back.

But is there enough time? Virgil won't raise Thunderbird Four until the last moment in case I manage to save myself. So Thunderbird Four's still got to get to the surface. Last time I was topside it was pretty rough and Alan's got to be lowered out of Thunderbird One onto a swaying vessel. Then he's got to descend down to where they think I am. He'll get here and activate Thunderbird Four's heat sensors to find me. They were useless when I tried them because the heat from the engines confused the signal. I couldn't tell what was human and what was mechanical, but they should be cold enough now that Alan will spot me straight away…

That's if I'm not cold as well…

Forget that! He'll get here in time.

The problem is that once he's located my position then he'll have to swim out of Thunderbird Four and physically find a way through an unfamiliar vessel and all the debris to get to me.

At the moment, for all they know, I could be anywhere in this boat.

For all they know I could already be dead.

I might be by the time they reach me.

The air's starting to get stale... I know what that means. That means that I'm poisoning myself. The carbon dioxide I'm breathing out is swamping what little is left of the oxygen I need to live. That means I've can look forward to confusion, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, headaches, convulsions… all before I finally lose consciousness.

I'm already beginning to feel ill.

Hurry! Please, Scott, hurry! I don't want to die! I don't want to die like that! I want to breathe clean fresh air! Get Alan and get back quick! Help me, Scott! You're my big brother. All my life you've looked out for me, protected me. Don't let me down now!

Please…

Stop this! Calm down, Gordon. Don't lose it now…

…Don't lose what? Trust me to put something down and forget where...

_There once was a gordman name frogon…_

I'm starting to feel cold and wet. I wish I was somewhere dry. How about the driest place on earth… Antarctica! That would do me. In the furry arms of a polar bear. Sure it would probably walk off with my head, but at least I'd be dry…

Something's not quite right there…

Antarctica… Arctica… Polar bear… Penguin… Duck… Duck, Duck, Goose…

Who wants to play a game? John? Johnny will you play with me?

_Here once was a froman name Gordon…_

Honest, Dad. That girl and I were skinny dipping, that's all…

_There once was a mandon called frogor…_

It's getting colder. I should get up and get another blanket, but my bed's so lovely and soft that I don't want to move. Dad, can you get me another blanket, please?

_There was a gord called frog…_

No, Daddy. Not the blanket with the fish on it. I don't like that one. Give me the one with the planes, or the stars, or the trains, or the cars, but please don't give me the fish. I don't like water…

_Gordon was froggie…_

Play 'Yellow Submarine" again for me, Virgie. I want to jump about in time to the music until I get warm…

_Once Grodon there was…_

Scotty, I don't want to play whirlpool with you anymore. I don't want to be spun around and around. I'm already dizzy. And my legs hurt… So do my arms. My head hurts…

_Was ere a frog…_

I'm sorry, Tin-Tin. I didn't mean to splash you… Honest, Kyrano. I didn't want to make her cry. Please don't throw me into your Koi Carp pond…

_Are one…_

Show me the stars, Johnny. It's so dark that they must be easy to see. Show me the ones that are supposed to look like a fish…

_Manfrog dongor…_

I'm the best 'Sardines' player ever… Peek-a-boo, Alan. I know you're hunting for me somewhere out there. But I can't see you because of this blanket that's covering my eyes…

Ohh, I think I've eaten too much at the party. I'm going to be sick…

I'm going to be…

I'm…

Too late.

_Once Gor…_

Sorry, Grandma. I forgot my raincoat. That's why I'm cold and wet…

Daddy, why did you put the blanket over my face? It's pressing down on me… I can't breathe…

I can't breathe…

I can't breathe! Help me, Daddy. Turn on the light. I'm scared! Help me, Daddy!

Thank you…

A light?

How come I can see a light?

Is this that final light? Is this the doorway to halos, and harps, and wings?

Is this what it's like to die? Out of focus faces passing in front of you? Hands guiding you? Seeing but not seeing shapes? I thought you were supposed to have your life flash past you, not bright colours, and numbers, and letters.

I'm feeling heavier.

Heavier!

If Heaven is up, then when you go there you must feel lighter. But if you are not going to Heaven, then you are heading downwards to where gravity has a greater pull on you…

I'm getting warmer too…

NO! Please, no! I know haven't exactly been good, but I haven't been bad either. And I would have thought that all the lives I've saved with International Rescue would have counted for something. I don't want to spend eternity down there…

I can't think anymore… My arms are – getting heavy… I – can't – move – my – legs… I – can't …

…….

………..

……………

………………

……………

………..

……..

Wha…!

Where am I?

What happened?

Would whoever's operating the jackhammer inside my head knock it off?

What's that sound?

Try opening your eyes for a little bit, Gordon.

Ouch! That wasn't a good idea. Close them again quick.

Thunderbird Four? I'm inside Thunderbird Four? But why am I lying down?

I know that sound. We're decompressing as we ascend to the surface.

But I haven't got my wetsuit on… Come to that I haven't got anything on, just this survival blanket.

What happened? What can I remember?

We were on a rescue. We thought some fishermen were trapped underwater in their boat.

There must be more to this story than that, Gordon.

I can't remember anything after I was trapped…

I was trapped?

Oh, yeah… That's right… I remember now. The boat rolled. I couldn't get out.

But I got out somehow.

_There once was a frogman named Gordon…_

Great. I've got that going through my mind again. Why can't I remember that stupid last line?

Okay, onto more important things. Open your eyes.

Yep, this is definitely Thunderbird Four.

Try to sit up, but take it slowly.

Slower than that.

My head hurts and my stomach feels like it's on a rollercoaster.

He's saying something to me, but I can't take it in at the moment; my head's hurting too much.

Ow! Put the sun out; it's hurting my eyes!

Sun? We must have broken the surface.

Ah, that's better, now that we're in the shadow of the cliff.

Cliff? But we were miles away from land. There're no cliffs near here.

Hang on! That's not a bit of land! That's…

Thunderbird Two?!

Thunderbird Two's sitting on the water!

I don't understand.

Yes I do! Now I remember. It must have been months ago. Brains, Virgil, Scott, Alan and I were discussing some new bit of equipment. I can't remember what it was but Virgil and Brains got talking about the mechanics of the thing and I lost interest. I want to know what it does and how I can make it operate; not work out how this cam is going to interact with that shaft and whether a six millimetre high-tensile bolt would be better than an eight millimetre one. That's the kind of thing that can keep Brains and Virg engaged for hours, but I got bored.

So I was sitting there, looking at a plan for Thunderbird Two and I did a few idle calculations; nothing serious, just something to pass the time. It was then that I worked out that, assuming it had a pod in situ and the pod was empty, should Thunderbird Two have to make a forced landing on the sea, it would be buoyant enough to leave the VTOL jets still exposed and operational. In short, Thunderbird Two would be able to float on water and then take off again.

I had commented on this fact.

Virgil's usually so cool headed, which is why he's such an asset on rescues, but if there's one weakness he's got, it's Thunderbird Two. Showing a true artist's palette, he turned as green as his plane, before sliding rapidly through polar bear white to the same shade of red as Thunderbird One's nose cone. He did NOT like the idea of his precious plane being exposed to salt water or the threat of submersion. (To be fair, I suppose that if someone were to suggest catapulting Thunderbird Four into the air, I would have behaved in a similar fashion.)

Alan, in contrast to our older brother, was delighted. He could see that here was a wonderful opportunity to tease Virgil and he wasn't about to let that opportunity slip by. Even Scott, probably knowing full well that there was no way that his own Thunderbird One would ever be an ocean going craft (except maybe with outriggers), was willing to participate in the joke.

I think that Virgil's big issue with the whole discussion that followed, was that Brains appeared to be taking the idea seriously. Alan, Scott and I were quite happy to make ridiculous suggestions to Virg about how and when we could test my theory, but Brains seemed intent on a genuine experiment.

The family discovered a long time ago that once you've got Virgil wound up, it takes him a long time to unwind again, and when it does happen it pays to keep well clear until he's calmed down; especially if you're the one who angered him in the first place. Scott, naturally, was the first to back down and suggest that we get back to the issue at hand. Alan stored the topic in the back of his mind for future consideration and agreed. And I, knowing Virgil well enough to know where the 'do not cross' line was, gave up a short time after that.

Unfortunately, Brains wasn't aware that there was such a line. He began looking at his calendar and booking Thunderbird Two in for her first baptism.

It takes a lot of effort to wind Virgil up. And believe me I've tried many times over the years. He knows me and he knows to take most of what I say with a large, stroke-inducing, dose of salt. But this time it was too much. He ripped into Brains, tore into me, ranted at Alan and Scott for good measure, and then stormed out of the workroom. Brains watched Virgil leave with a look of utter bewilderment on his face, having absolutely no idea what he'd done wrong. Of course I was the one who got the blame even though it wasn't my fault this time. I remember telling Scott and Alan to blame Archimedes or someone, but not me; I'd only pointed out the laws of physics, it was Brains who wanted to give Thunderbird Two a dunking… But since it turns out that I may have saved my own neck, I'll take the credit.

Later that day I heard Virgil in the lounge playing Wagner, and when Virgil plays that you know he's past the point of no return!

I had dinner in my room that night for my own safety.

I think Brains had his in the lab. Probably at Scott's suggestion.

In fact, if I remember correctly, as Virgil stomped away from the four of us he was muttering something along the lines of we'd only see Thunderbird Two sitting in the water over his dead body.

Bet you were hoping she wasn't sitting in the water over mine, huh, Virg?

As I look out through Thunderbird Four's plexiglass veiwport towards that great green bulk sitting in the middle of all those white horses, I'm starting to imagine what must have happened for her to get there. Someone would have had to make the suggestion that Virgil attempt the untested landing. Perhaps they suggested it to Scott and left it to him to cautiously remind Virgil of our discussion all those months ago. Perhaps Virgil made the suggestion himself?

He might deny it, but I know that he wouldn't have hesitated coming to my rescue. He might have willingly chucked me into the Pacific that day in the workroom, but today he would have been desperate to get me to safety. Brains had already confirmed my calculations and the pod was empty because Thunderbird Four was down on the ocean floor; so there was no problem with the theory. But there was more to this than just landing a plane on the sea in stormy weather. Once there he would have had to transfer across to Thunderbird Four. Even now, hours after the initial mayday, I can see that the sea is still pretty rough and it would have taken a lot of courage to relocate from his giant 'Bird to my smaller one. Even after that he would still have been exposed to danger. Swimming through the mine field that was my prison, carrying an extra oxygen cylinder, and then pulling me free would have been a hazardous way to spend an afternoon. He's still got to get back to Thunderbird Two, lift her out of the water without the pod, and then pick it up again after Thunderbird Four and I are safely stored inside.

I turn so I can see my brother sitting at the controls of my craft; brown hair mussed up from when he pulled down the hood of his wetsuit. He's using more power than is necessary to push through the waves, but I'm not going to give him a lecture now. Not when he's just saved my life… That can wait till later.

But what should I say to him? What can I say? What do you say to a brother who's just risked his beloved aircraft and his own neck to save mine? There's only one thing I can say to him.

"Thank you."

Typical. He's made a dismissive gesture, as if it's all in a day's work, and has turned back to the task of manoeuvring Thunderbird Four alongside Thunderbird Two…

_There once was a frogman named Gordon…_

Not that again.

_There once was a frogman named Gordon,  
Who found living on land brought on boredom,  
His greatest wish  
Was to live like a fish  
So for a year, in a bowl, they did store him._

That's right. I remember now… That was me…

A fish in a bowl.

_The end._

_Happy birthday, Gordon _


End file.
